The Almost Illegal Tea Party
by aestheticisms
Summary: She wants a prince too, you know. Bianca-centric.


a/n: I feel like I shouldn't have posted this. Not yet, at least.

* * *

The Almost Illegal Tea Party - She wants a prince too, you know.

* * *

"In a game of envy, you must always know just where exactly your opponent is headed."

The older woman's words were cut off by the blonde girl with green eyes, gazing steadily at an identical pair belonging to the woman.

"Then what?" Her question was unexpected, but the woman answered it after gracefully taking a sip of earl gray tea.

"You sabotage their future, my dear Bianca."

* * *

-_seven things my parents told me that were lies_

_ by Bianca Noir_

i.

My parents told me, when I was six years old, that I had a quarter of royal blood flowing through my veins. As a child, this excited me so very much, I was part princess, they would coo, as I twirled around in sparkly, crushed velvet dresses. Obviously, it was a well-cultivated white lie, a little diversion for them to be entertained with and for me to fall in love with.

My parents destroyed my own future - unintentionally, unawarely, and unnoticeably. The result of the idea planted into my mind at a young age was...completely unpredictable. No one would've guessed that the little Noir girl would grow up to become a...

A what, exactly? I don't know what I am now. All I know is who I used to be, who I want to be, who I will never be.

I'm not a princess. A real princess would rather have the lowest mongrel than me in their royal court.

ii.

When I was seven, I met a boy with brown hair and eyes like the richest chocolate. He was a playful thing, always energetic, always smiling. His name was Blair - he was eight, one year older than I was. He tended to come over to my house so we could play together, chasing each other through the sprawling backyard, or climb trees, or simply lay under one of the leafy fronds of a palm tree that had been imported into Unova via Hoenn, courtesy of my parents.

My parents told me that I was to marry that boy. I was okay with that, and he was too. We were the perfect pair, in their shiny, plastic, social-ladder climbing world.

I was a willing pawn, until I turned nine.

I broke off the engagement at age thirteen.

iii.

At age nine, I realized that Blair and I had no possibility of a future together. Of course, being that I was nine and all, I didn't have an epiphany moment or anything. I just realized that I cared for Blair like the older brother I never had. He would hold my hand while we crossed the street, or he would buy me a balloon from the local vendor on one of the Kanako Town streets.

He cared for me too, sure, but when he laid his eyes on the new girl in town, he broke his own heart in two.

Her name was Whitlea. She was the perfect porcelain doll my parents craved, and she was everything I was not. Her long, brunette curls bounced with every step she took, her blue eyes were like sapphires, and her smile would cause a flock of ten year old boys to come to her aid.

She was so fucking perfect that I hated her at first sight.

My parents assured me that Blair was still going to marry me, sure, in order to protect the companies that belonged to his parents, or something. I don't even remember half the shit they told me.

But hell, were they wrong.

iv.

At age thirteen, I broke the childhood marriage promise that bound Blair and I like a red string of fate.

I kissed a boy by the name of Cheren Blanc.

I fell in love with the boy named Cheren Blanc. He was beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful with his serious demeanor and pretty dark eyes. One look was all it took - I drowned in his steady stare, always watching, always waiting.

He was the one for me, I chanted that night. I skipped and twirled around my room, long blonde hair flying about.

I felt like the princess I thought I was.

My parents told me I was delusional if I thought I could simply break off the engagement and run off with Cheren. I cringed under their harsh words and screams, but what was I supposed to do?

Nothing, because the day after, Whitlea _fucking _Kuro broke Blair's heart when she kissed Cheren Blanc in front of the school cafeteria, leaving the masses speechless.

I hated her. I hated her and I wanted her to die. My eyes teared up, but I ignored the sting, carefully plotting the plan that would lead to the demise of many.

I never expected that I would be the cause of so much damage.

v.

Blair Valkoinen was depressed. At age fourteen, he had about every girl fawning and falling all over him, but he could care less. He was completely, irrevocably, and dangerously in love with Whitlea. His eyes followed her every move, the way her skirt fell into place with every step she took, the way her hair swished and swooshed every time she turned to smile at a potential suitor.

She either was a talented actress or honestly could care less about Blair's affections.

I hoped it was the former. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to feel the pain of having love ripped away from you - much like she did to me. After much coaxing, I managed to convince Blair to ask one of his admirer's out. He complied, only because it was the only way that he would be able to enact his comeback after Whitlea's public display off faux-affection with Cheren.

I planted the first seed of my dark harvest.

I asked Blair to come over on a weekend so that we could discuss homework, or some other trivial excuse. He complied, a little too eagerly, dark eyes throwing a wary glance at the wind, hoping for his smile to reach Whitlea's gaze.

If his entire love-sick puppy charade wasn't so pathetic, I would've felt sorry for him.

My parents decided that they weren't involved and told me that whatever happened next was all on me.

What hypocrites.

vi.

I turned sixteen in May. I had flowers in my hair, the pidove were singing, and it was great day, in theory. Everyone in Kanako was invited to my lavish sixteenth birthday ball, but the enthusiasm for another year of my life masked a carefully hid anxiety. My father shot me worried glances, always calling me as soon as I exited the door. He held private conversations with my mother every night in the tea room, the aroma of burning earl gray wafting into the upper corridors where I skulked, in my favorite pair of white ballet flats. I stood near the stair-case, always watching, always waiting for one of them to slip up and spill what they had been so carefully discussing for the past two weeks.

The moment never came. When I confronted them about it, the night before my birthday, they assured me that the matter wasn't all too important and that I should go dress shopping with Whitlea.

I didn't mention the tiny little fact that I hated Whitlea and the only reason I was "friends" with her was to manipulate her further in my game of chess.

But I complied. I went dress shopping with Whitlea, and my jealous green eyes seemed to follow her every move, she laughed as she threw her head back to the wind, purchasing a disastrous dress - short, slinky, black, absolutely gorgeous in it's own goddamn way.

I got a stupid white dress. I returned it minutes after Whitlea left, in exchange for a black dress.

I was in the mood for revolutionary threads.

The day after, my parents told me 'Have a happy birthday, sweet heart. We love you.'

This was their sixth lie.

vii.

I wanted to go on my Pokemon journey. My parents went ballistic when they found out. My father locked himself up in his room, screaming at anyone who came to close. I would've felt bad for my mother, if I could. It was her fault, anyways, for allowing me to be exposed to the world outside, for letting me foster the dream of leaving at age sixteen, with all my other on and off friends.

It was supposed to be perfect.

It was at that heartbreaking moment that I realized how pathetic I really was. In a fit of rage, I chopped off all my hair, trashed that black dress I bought, and completely stepped away from the madness that I had thrown myself into on purpose - a last ditch attempt at salvation.

So I returned to the persona I knew in my heart I would always be able to play - the ditzy blonde girl no one would suspect, the one who gave smiles away like candy, the one whose eyes tell so much more than they should.

My parents told me that I didn't have to go on a journey - that I would be find staying home.

I told them to go to the underworld and stay there.

* * *

On the day I reached the Pokemon League, I stared and bit my lower lip, trembling in fear. My fingers gripped the pokeball tightly, as if it could roll away and disappear from my grasp, like everyone else had.

Blair was lost in his own head, his own delusional thinking was the end of him. He loved Whitlea more than anything in the world. His eyes seemed to glow brighter in her presence, even when he found out she was sleeping with a twenty-one and a half year old by the name of N. Cheren was confused. He didn't know where to go, where his future was taking him. The once cocky and arrogant male was a sorry mess now, occasionally calling me to check how I was doing, or some other trivial matter. Whitlea...was Whitlea, stealing the hearts of every man in the region, with her dark eyes and blood red lips.

I never changed, never moved. I was stuck in a stand still that would become my grave. I stood and hated Whitlea for everything she did to my life, for ruining my life, for hating me, too. I hated her for stealing ever boy I could've loved, for destroying their ability to love.

She stole something that I would never get back.

She stole my future.

But that was okay, I promised myself as I entered the League building, green eyes scanning the area. Soon enough, she wouldn't matter. Soon enough, she would be another corpse - another reminder of those who lived fast and died young.

That would be the day I would be able to truly smile again.

"I hate you, Whitlea Kuro."


End file.
